Running
by Flyaway Dove
Summary: Hermione meets her colleague and lover at the worst moment, only to turn the moment around to her advantage. OneShot


**Running**

Hermione Jane Granger, aged twenty-five, was running. In an attempt to improve her shape, she had taken to running around Hogwarts every day at five in the morning. But Hogwarts was a big place, and, considering that this was only her fourth morning, her run was more of a jog. She was already short of breath and not proud of it, but she trudged onward all the same. She was determined to build some muscle tone in her legs.

Panting as she rounded the wide berth of the North Tower, she spotted a figure lounged languidly out across the grass, a novel propped open on the ground beside him. She immediately halted and retreated behind the swell of the stone tower, leaning against it to catch her breath, which was now ragged not only because of the run/jog, but because of the man relaxing on the dewy Hogwarts grounds.

They had met in a fit of passion a few nights ago, for the fourth time. As Hogwarts professors, they had skirted around one another during mealtimes and meetings in the hallways after these encounters occurred, preferring to speak in their private quarters. This time the avoidance was becoming more of an annoyance, having gone on for longer than usual. Hermione missed the friendship with him when they had days of silence such as these. Of course, after the began talking again a few days after their nights together, they pretended that nothing happened; that Hermione hadn't been writing uncontrollably underneath him thanks to his expertly placed kisses, that Blaise's eyes hadn't closed in ecstasy as Hermione skimmed her hands along his body.

She realized how ashamed she was right now, as the flush raised from her toes to her cheeks. She was ashamed at the fact that she was now hiding from her colleague, her friend, her lover, behind a tower, clothed in naught but running shorts, trainers, and a sports bra, her untamable, bushy hair woven into a long plait. She was sure that her face was splotched red from her overexertion and now from the unwanted blush. She knew that strands of escaped hair clung to her forehead from her sweat. In other words, she was bloody beautiful at the moment. And as she stood, plastered to the side of the castle, a voice reached her ears.

"It's too late, Professor, I've already seen you."

Her muscles tightened, her back stiffened. She flattened herself further to the wall. He could not have seen her. She refused to let him see her like this. Naked, yes; fully clothed, yes; but in her running outfit, absolutely fecking not.

"I know the tower wall cannot be that interesting."

He _had_ seen her. Damn.

If her wand was on her, she would have transformed her clothing into something less sweat-soaked and full of Spandex. Sadly, her wand was sitting on her bedside table in the castle, entirely useless to her.

Well, the good news was that he wasn't avoiding her anymore. Daringly, she stepped out from the bulge of the tower wall.

Blaise was now sitting up, cross-legged, staring at her amusedly.

"Hello," she offered meekly. At least she wasn't breathing heavily any longer. "There was a cat behind the tower." It was a pathetic lie, but she had to say something that didn't make her sound like an absolute fool for hiding from him.

He looked over her attire, subtly, though she still caught it. "Out for a jog?" he wondered.

"Run, actually," she said in defense. She wanted him to believe that she was in shape. She was sure, however, that he could see the jiggling of her thighs and calves as she walked, proving that she had no muscle tone. She chose to ignore this fact as she went to sit down next to him, fighting a blush. Hermione hated these awkward moments with Blaise. She just wanted them to be friends. They should have drawn the line there, but they hadn't.

"Do you run every morning?" Blaise asked, making small talk.

Hermione hated this too. Small talk was for acquaintances and they were far from acquaintances. "Um, yes," she replied grudgingly. She was trying not to be angry with him, but was failing miserably. She didn't understand how he could forget so quickly about their bedroom meetings.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

He always could read her rather well. Hermione debated whether to tell the truth or to keep pretending that everything was all right. She decided on the former, to throw him off guard.

"You're what's wrong, Professor Zabini."

Indeed, he did seem slightly surprised. "Pardon?"

"You are the problem, Blaise," she repeated. Then the words spurted out of her before she could stop them: "I am tired of waiting around for you to decide when to snog me. You lead me on, shag me, and then we avoid one another for days. I don't like pretending that nothing ever happened between us. I know this is cliché, but I value our friendship and I don't want anything to ruin it. So if all you want to do is stay friends, then let's stop dancing around each other and stop sleeping together."

Needless to say, Blaise was stunned. "How long have you felt this way, Hermione?" he asked quietly.

Hermione hung her head, slightly embarrassed. She really hadn't meant for all the truth to come out, even if she was used to confiding everything in Blaise Zabini, Potions Master.

"Since the first time we…since the first night," she replied, a blush blossoming on her cheeks.

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" His voice was gentle, but he sounded like he was trying to suppress amusement.

"I didn't want to seem…" —Hermione thought a moment, groping for the right word— "needy."

"Hermione, you can tell me anything, you should know that."

"I _know_," she said, her cheeks now burning. "And now I've told you how I feel."

"I want to be more than friends, Hermione; more than once-in-a-while lovers."

She looked up at him, her face hopeful. Her heart fluttered in its cavity. These were the words she had been waiting to hear for months now. It seemed that he had finally come around. She wondered why he hadn't realized before how she felt, considering the fact that he could read her like a book most of the time.

"What does that mean?" she asked in a very timid voice.

"Sometimes you're less than sharp, Granger," said smiled.

"Speak for yourself, Zabini. You're the one who didn't notice that you were breaking my heart."

That statement made his face crumple. He leaned forward and kissed her soundly on the lips. His hands cupped the sides of her face. "I'm truly sorry, Hermione. I would never hurt you on purpose. I fancy you more than you can ever know."

Their faces close together, foreheads almost touching, Hermione said, "You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear that."

"Does that mean I've been frequenting your dreams, Hermione?" he smirked.

"Perhaps," she said cheekily.

They were silent for a few moments, entranced by the moment, and then Blaise said, "Can I run with you, Professor?"

"Only if you're planning on running up to my bedroom with me."

"Have I told you how attractive you are in running clothes?"


End file.
